Open post

“The Noise Was Terrific”: Sensory Titanic

"The Noise Was Terrific": Sensory Titanic

Monochrome photos and scuffed film footage of the RMS Titanic—captivating though they are—often belie the obvious: she was not, in fact, a mute ship.

Her walls were not greyscale set-pieces; her passengers were not quaintly clad rooks on a chessboard.

Titanic was a lively, living vessel that was full of lively, living people. And as such, she sailed in a constant eddy of sound.

It was noisy on board.

There were the usual ambient noises, naturally, such as the wind and rush of Atlantic waves. And Lawrence Beesley, the bookish and astute Second-class passenger, recalled in detail the maritime soundtrack of seagulls as Titanic followed the coast.

In our wake soared and screamed hundreds of gulls, which had quarreled and fought over the remnants of lunch pouring out of the waist pipes as we lay-to in the harbor entrance… The gulls were still behind us when night fell, and still, they screamed and dipped down into the broad wake of foam which we left behind; but in the morning they were gone…

Excerpt from "The Loss of the S.S. Titanic" by Lawrence Beesley, published in 1912.

But the most notable noise on board was most certainly the thrumming. The ever-turning engines and propulsion of the ship caused a low-frequency vibration throughout the ship.

It was, in essence, Titanic's very heartbeat.

Jack Thayer, a 17-year-old traveling with his parents, recalled the effect.

 There was the steady rhythmic pulsation of the engines and screws, the feel and hearing of which becomes second nature to one, after a few hours at sea.

Excerpt from "The Sinking of the S.S. Titanic" by Jack Thayer.

Most passengers grew accustomed to it rather quickly, although some wrote that they found it troubling at the start of the voyage—especially when trying to get to sleep. And depending on the particular whereabouts of one’s cabin, the omnipresent vibration often caused a collateral racket.

This was the unfortunate case for Second-class passenger Samuel Hocking.

You can hardly realise you are on board except for the jolting of the engines that is why it is such bad writing… I turned in at 10 o’clock last night, but could get no sleep owing to the rattle of water bottles, glasses and other things too numerous to mention so I was glad to get up at six o’clock...

Citation courtesy of "On Board RMS Titanic," by George Behe. 2012.

Samuel, like other perturbed passengers, mused that he would “soon get used to it.”

Above the persistent mechanical hum would have been the simple commotion of everyday life that played out in Titanic’s common areas.

With her multiple long promenades, Titanic was made for moseying about. And in spite of the April briskness, her passengers took full advantage. Conversations in this setting were probably private enough, likely intelligible from afar due to the sea winds. 

But not everyone received the memo regarding on-deck decorum.

Multiple passengers in Second-class noted a loud jollity amongst the younger men on board. 

Henry Hodges, who was on his way to Boston to visit with family, made mention of some notably raucous lads in a letter to a Mr. Hector Young. He posted the missive during Titanic’s stopover in Queenstown, Ireland, on 11 April.

 On the top deck, there are about 20 boys, from 20 upwards, marching round and singing, others are playing dominoes and cards in the saloons. Some are reading, some writing. 

Citation courtesy of "On Board RMS Titanic," by George Behe. 2012.

Fellow Second-class passenger Kate Buss seems to have heard these guys, too. 

She was not a fan. 

“Such a noise by the many youths aboard,” Kate wrote. “The second class is very mixed. Some very ordinary, and some very nice. One can really walk miles a day going around the decks.”

Kate didn’t always seem the tolerant sort when it came to noise, and seems to have been specifically irked by noisy children on board.

Promised to go on deck before breakfast, but I hear so many men about outside. I’m afraid to go on the deck below and fetch Miss W. Shall wait until I hear the dressing gong.… I hear a baby screaming now, two or three are on board... some seem to turn up only at meal times. 

Citation courtesy of "On Board RMS Titanic," by George Behe. 2012.

Kate did, however, look fondly on two of the children nearby. The LaRoche daughters—3-year-old Simone and 1-year-old Louise—were “dolls running about.”

In steerage, the nearly 100 children under age 14 were also underfoot and surely making themselves heard as they played. Eliza Johnston, for example, wrote in a postcard to her father that “we are all feeling A1. The kids are skipping about like skylarks.”

Lawrence Beesley observed Third-class goings-on from afar, and he described a vibrant soundscape of music and play among the passengers on deck.

Looking down astern from the boat deck or from B deck to the storage quarters, I often noticed how the third-class passengers were enjoying every minute of the time: a most uproarious skipping game of the mixed-double type was the great favorite, while “in and out and roundabout” went a Scotchman with his bagpipes playing something that Gilbert says “faintly resembled an air."

Excerpt from "The Loss of the S.S. Titanic" by Lawrence Beesley, published in 1912.

Other populous areas on board were, without doubt, an ongoing orchestra of the mundane.

In the dining rooms, for instance: the shrill clatter of White Star Line china, the pushing and pulling of chairs on carpet, the pouring of teas, and the murmur of the waitstaff.

Of course, summoning the passengers to prepare for these mealtimes was a soundtrack unto itself. In First-class, Arthur Gee described it with a sense of humor.

Just finished dinner. They call us up to dress by bugle. It reminded me of some Russian villages where they call the cattle home from the fields by horn made from the bark of a tree. 

Citation courtesy of "On Board RMS Titanic," by George Behe. 2012.

In Second-class, Juliette LaRoche, the mother of the aforementioned “dolls” Simone and Louise, described a similar experience in a letter to her father back in France. “The chime of the bell announcing breakfast woke them up. Louise laughed a lot at it…”

Juliette went on to describe yet another element of the auditory experience on Titanic: that of near-ubiquitous music.

“I am writing from the reading room,” she wrote. “There is a concert in here, near me, one violin, two cellos, one piano.”

The Titanic was equipped with a reported six Steinway pianos of varying models; three were located in First-class, two were located in Second-class, and the last was for the use of steerage passengers.

While the First-class pianos were reserved for Titanic's musicians, record exists of passengers playing the pianos in both the Second- and Third-Classes.

One of the two Second-class Steinways was played upon by 27-year-old Robert Douglas Norman during an impromptu hymn service held by Reverend Ernest Carter, a fellow passenger, on the same evening as the iceberg strike.

The Third-class piano, located in the general room on C-Deck, existed solely for passengers—and it was certainly used, particularly during the party held on the night of the iceberg strike.

Gershon Cohen wrote that, even in the immediate aftermath of the collision, "people were singing and playing the piano, and the band [of passenger musicians] was still playing."

Eugene Daly corroborated Gershon's recollection. "I played the pipes and there was a great deal of dancing and singing. This was kept up even after we had struck."

When Titanic collided with the iceberg, the sound experience varied drastically per passenger.

Some reported that they heard nothing at all.

Third-class passenger Elin Hakkarainen wrote that she and her husband Pekka were in their cabin when they "heard a scraping sound... a few moments later the throb of the engines stopped."

In First-class, Jack Thayer had just come back from a jaunt up on deck.

I went onto the boat deck – it was deserted and lonely. The wind whistled through the stays, and blackish smoke poured out of the three forward funnels… It was the kind of a night that made one feel glad to be alive.

Excerpt from "The Sinking of the S.S. Titanic" by Jack Thayer.

Jack returned to his quarters soon thereafter and prepared for bed as he listened again to the wheezing wind. "I had half opened the port [window], and the breeze was coming through with a quiet humming whistle," he wrote.

Then Titanic struck the iceberg.

Jack's account of what unfolded is a testament to chaos and cacophony.

The noise was terrific. The deep vibrating roar of the exhaust steam blowing off through the safety valves was deafening, in addition to which they had commenced to send up rockets… After standing there for some minutes talking above the din, trying to determine what we should do next, we finally decided to go back into the crowded hallway where it was warm.

Excerpt from "The Sinking of the S.S. Titanic" by Jack Thayer.

Jack jumped overboard, finding refuge on the overturned Collapsible B.

Still, he could hear it all.

The roaring of the exhaust steam suddenly stopped, making a great quietness, in spite of many mixed noises of hurrying human effort and anguish. As I recall it, the lights were still on, even then. There seemed to be quite a ruddy glare, but it was a murky light, with distant people and objects vaguely outlined. The stars were brilliant and the water oily…

Occasionally there had been a muffled thud or deadened explosion within the ship. Now, without warning she seemed to start forward, moving forward and into the water at an angle of about fifteen degrees. This movement, with the water rushing up toward us was accompanied by a rumbling roar, mixed with more muffled explosions. It was like standing under a steel railway bridge while an express train passes overhead, mingled with the noise of a pressed steel factory and wholesale breakage of china...

Excerpt from "The Sinking of the S.S. Titanic" by Jack Thayer.

According to Jack, Titanic's stern soundlessly slipped beneath the surface of the water.

And the wails began.

Titanic went under the water with very little apparent suction or noise… Praying and cursing and cries of entreaty and words of command came from those of us packed like sardines on the hull of [overturned Collapsible B].

Probably a minute passed with almost dead silence and quiet. Then an individual call for help, from here, from there; gradually swelling into a composite volume of one long continuous wailing chant, from the fifteen hundred in the water all around us. It sounded like locusts on a mid-summer night, in the woods in Pennsylvania.

This terrible continuing cry lasted for twenty or thirty minutes, gradually dying away, as one after another could no longer withstand the cold...

Excerpt from "The Sinking of the S.S. Titanic" by Jack Thayer.

Even today, Titanic still has a voice.

According to some who have visited the Titanic's wreck site, the ship groans against the deepwater currents. It sounds, supposedly, like a creaky old house in the wind.

SOURCE MATERIAL

Hyslop, Donald, Alastair Forsyth, and Sheila Jemima. "Titanic Voices: Memories from the Fateful Voyage." Sutton Publishing Limited, 1997.

Behe, George. "On Board RMS Titanic: Memories of the Maiden Voyage." The History Press, 2012.

Beesley, Lawrence. "The Loss of the S.S. Titanic." Houghton Mifflin Company, 1912. Rpt. by Mariner Books, 2000.

Bile, Serge. "Black Man on the Titanic: The Story of Joseph Laroche." Mango Publishing, 2019.

https://titanicarchive.org/collections/documents/john-jack-borland-thayer/the-sinking-of-the-ss-titanic

https://newengland.com/yankee/history/titanic-survivor/

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/community/threads/the-pianos.53155/

Open post

“That Doesn’t Seem a Very Commendable Proceeding”: The Fate of Titanic’s Lifeboats

“That Doesn’t Seem a Very Commendable Proceeding”: The Fate of Titanic’s Lifeboats

In the blue morning hours of 15 April 1912, having already brought aboard Titanic’s survivors, the Carpathia set about to salvage any of the now-vacant lifeboats thought to be in good condition. 

But, with precious little room to store them all on an already-full vessel, it was decided that not all the lifeboats could be saved. 

And so, some of the Titanic’s lifeboats were set adrift, or otherwise abandoned to the open ocean.

Thirteen of Titanic’s twenty lifeboats arrived on the Carpathia when she swung into New York City on the night of 18 April.

They were, as it turned out, the very first of Titanic’s survivors to disembark the rescue ship—much to the wonder and dismay of the throng that awaited the Carpathia at Pier 54.

The waiting hundred, almost frantic with anxiety over what the Carpathia might reveal, watched her, as with nerve-destroying leisure she swung about in the river, dropping overboard, Titanic’s lifeboats. It was dark in the river, the lowering of the boats could be seen from the Carpathia’s pier, and a deep sigh arose from the multitude there as they caught this first glimpse of something associated with the Titanic.

The Carpathia’s captain Arthur Rostron later described the scene himself.

There were dozens of tug[boats] dodging about the ship, and the lowering away of Titanic’s boats (we could not get into dock until all of the Titanic boats were away from the ship, as seven of them were suspended in our davits and six were in the forecastle head, and so in the way of working the mooring ropes) and these boats, leaving the ship in the blackness of the night with two of the rescued crew in each boat and some of Titanic’s officers in charge of them, it brought back to one’s mind the manner in which these same boats were last lowered from that great and magnificent ship never to reach New York.

According to various reports, some of the wrecked lifeboats were laid upon a derrick vessel called Champion, while some others were towed away to berth by tugboats.

Once reunited and off-board the Carpathia, Titanic's thirteen lifeboats weathered that rainy night in the water, bobbing and clattering in the White Star Line’s Pier 59.

Meanwhile, Senator William Alden Smith had conducted a hasty interview with White Star chairman J. Bruce Ismay while he was still on board the Carpathia. Afterward, Senator Smith had informed the press that the surviving lifeboats would be of use in the upcoming Senate inquiry into the loss of the Titanic.

But it would not happen.

After their sleepover in the water, the huddled lifeboats were pulled from the water the next day. The task was undertaken by men working for the firm Merritt & Chapman, whose derrick had assisted the night prior.

Under supervision, the lifeboats were hauled aloft onto the docks between Piers 58 and 59.

Each of the thirteen lifeboats were then inspected and their contents were plainly inventoried by a dockside supervisor named Osborne Thompson. 

Mr. Thompson also made note of every lifeboat’s present condition, particularly whether insignia such as Titanic name plates, number plates, or White Star Line flags were absent.

Many were.

Perhaps the surviving lifeboats had been scavenged overnight by relic hunters, stripped of their brass nameplates for souvenirs.

First-class survivor Abraham Salomon, however, offered another explanation, claiming outright that the lifeboats were robbed of their fittings during their recovery at sea.

Within an hour after the Titanic's lifeboats had been stowed aboard the Carpathia every name plate had been taken off them. There were offered for sale at $5 each, and every one of them was sold. That doesn't seem… a very commendable proceeding from either side, but I may be wrong.

Mr. Salomon’s assertions have been proven accurate over the course of time, as various fittings from the thirteen lifeboats have appeared in both private and museum collections.

Just as likely, of course, is that some of the affected lifeboats might have simply incurred damage during their handling in the aftermath of the sinking.

Once inventoried by Mr. Thompson, the lifeboats were stored away.

This decision immediately incited media suspicions; the press readily suggested that the White Star Line had something to hide.

It was even reported that a photographer, while attempting to take photos of the mysterious lifeboats, had a gun fired on him by a pier watchman on duty.

The White Star Line presumably stored the lifeboats in New York due to Senator Smith’s proclamation that the vessels would be pertinent to his investigation. 

But the United States Senate Inquiry concluded in May 1912.

And as of September of 1912, the lifeboats were still in situ at the pier. 

But they had not been forgotten.

On the 28th of September, a pair of gentlemen named Henry Masters and Frank Martin carried out a valuation of the thirteen lifeboats at the behest of the White Star Line.

According to Martin and Masters, they came upon the boats at Pier 58. They had been placed on the second story of the dock, and were arranged in no particular order. The men started at the end of the dock with Lifeboat 11.

One by one and with the help of two dockyard employees, the men pulled each boat’s canvas back, measured it, and conducted a detailed assessment. Mr. Martin scribbled the corresponding notes in his ledger.

The lifeboats were all damaged in some way, he recalled—some missing their wooden gunwales, others with broken planks—but in spite of some scuffs, none of them “appeared to be very old.”

The valuation took around 4 or 5 hours.

Just before the new year, the White Star Line hired someone else to assess the lifeboats yet again; this time, the intent was to assess their value in the American marketplace. 

The assessor, named Axel Sawman, found them in “the upper part of the shed” at Pier 58, just as his predecessors had. He thereafter conducted an itemization of the separate items and effects of each lifeboat.

Sawman's appraisal is the last known record of Titanic’s thirteen surviving lifeboats. Whether they were recycled, scrapped, or abandoned to rot in that shed, the last relics of the Titanic were never seen again.

Over a century later, evidence of their fate has yet to be found.

Open post

“For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice”: Food Storage on Titanic

"For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice": Food Storage on Titanic

Down on E-Deck, alongside a 3rd-Class corridor, there was a Potato Room.

It was larger than some First-Class suites. Next door, across a slim hallway which was blocked off by a Bostwick gate, was the Wash Room assigned exclusively to the care of potatoes.

A plain necessity, seeing as the Potato Room housed an approximate 40 tons of potatoes for Titanic’s maiden voyage. It was the most plentiful foodstuff on board.

Food storage on Titanic was vast, and necessary.

Foodstuffs were supplied to Titanic in veritable tonnage.

In regard to produce: an established fruiterer of Southampton, called Oakley & Watling, was a regular supplier for the White Star Line. A contemporary advertisement boasts: "Every Description of Decorative Floral Work for Ships. --- Fancy Baskets & Bouquets of Choicest Flowers --- Also --- Ornamental Baskets of Assorted Fruit For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice."

Another supplier was Grey's, a Liverpudlian firm who had more recently opened a local branch.

These stocks were brought on board in logical but no less staggering numbers.

Potatoes                              40 tons

Onions                                3,500 lbs.

Tomatoes                           3,500 lbs.

Fresh asparagus               800 bundles

Fresh green peas              2,500 lbs.

Lettuce                               7,000 heads

Apples                                36,000

Orange is                           36,000

Lemons                              16,000

Grapes                                1,000 lbs.

Grapefruit                          13,000

As cited in "Titanic Voices: Memories from the Fateful Voyage" by Donald Hyslop, Alastair Forsyth, & Sheila Jemima, 1997.

The varietals of a portion of this produce, such as the apples, is subject to speculation.

For instance, a preserved menu card from First-Class breakfast on April 11, 1912, offers a baked-apple dish. Baked apples were commonly made with russett apples; this may very well have been the case on Titanic.

Otherwise, it is reasonable to assume that, in the absence of global fruit trade and year-long cultivation methods of today, that the varietals on board would have been subject to the season in the United Kingdom. That produce, in turn, might have been swapped out for what was readily available in America for the return trip.

The extensive refrigeration network that housed this gargantuan horde of produce occupied lower decks, as well as orlop. It boasted individuated cold chambers for all varieties of the foodstuffs onboard.

Separate cold chambers, whose temperatures could be independently regulated, maintained the likes of mineral water; dairy products such as butter, milk, and cheese; beef; poultry, fish,  game, and bacon; champagne stores; and assorted vegetables and fruit. Cold chambers were also assigned exclusively to fresh-cut flowers.

Additionally, cold larders were installed throughout Titanic in various bars and pantries, to permit for ice-making.

The engineering of this refrigeration system--while a complex matter, the mechanics of which are better left to a more capable writer--essentially made use of a brine circulation system to keep contents evenly cool.

Along with the afore-stated produce, Titanic also brought with it 2,200 lbs. of coffee.

So there was, naturally, also a "Coffee Man": a 35-year-old named Johannes Vogelin-Dubach, who worked as waitstaff in the Ritz, which was the a la carte restaurant available exclusively to First-Class passengers.

The Assistant Coffee Man was a 24-year-old friend of Johannes's named Gerald Grosclaude, with whom he shared a home address in Southampton.

There is little evidence as to how coffee was served on board, though it was presumably drip-style. Fancier options may have been available to the First-Class.

In the Ritz Restaurant, it would not have been atypical for coffee to have been served in tandem with liqueurs. This practice was common enough that coffee was often served only three-quarters full, in order to accommodate the so-called "cordials" that would be poured directly into the cup.

Then there was the Ice Cream Room. This insulated and refrigerated space contained 1,750 quarts of fine ice cream, possibly contained in metal canisters.

The Ice Cream Room, found down on G Deck, would have been visited primarily by the Titanic's sole "Ice Man," who oversaw frozen confections for the clientele of the Ritz Restaurant.

This singular role belonged Adolf Mattmann, a 20-year-old from Switzerland who had previously apprenticed as a pastry chef and worked in confection at an illustrious hotel in Lucerne. He had only moved to England in the autumn of 1911, when he worked as a patissier on Titanic's elder sister, the R.M.S. Olympic.

When Adolf signed onto Titanic, he did so with marked intention.

Adolf wrote to his parents, "I want to make at least two crossings working in pastry aboard the Titanic because after that I will be able to get almost any pastry chef job in any of the best hotels in London."

Neither Adolf, nor the Coffee Men Johannes and Gerard, survived the sinking.

Because the refrigerated holds were aft and deep within the vessel, the whole of the complex is assumed to have been obliterated by the stern's implosion as Titanic sank.

Open post

“Knots of Sailors Who Stand Idly About”: Recruitment Day

"Knots of Sailors Who Stand Idly About": Recruitment Day

April 6, 1912, was a day of great relief in port city of Southampton, England.

Sister ships Berengaria, Leviathan, and Majestic docked in Southampton. Taken prior to 1931 by an unknown party.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

By April 6th, the United Kingdom national coal strike had already been ongoing for 37 days. It had summarily devastated Southampton’s maritime workforce, forcing hundreds of ship workers into unemployment.

"Daily the ranks of unemployed are swelled," reported the Southern Daily Echo, "to join the knots of sailors who stand idly about."

Smoke no longer climbed from chimneys as households, in spite of the wet English chill, rationed what little coal they had left. Families were led into destitution, causing many to apply for aid and relief funds.

A contemporary newspaper report described one waiting line on Bargate Street as a "mournful queue of the workless" that had sadly become a "daily spectacle... many of the women had little tiny tots in their arms, and if some were too tired, worn and helpless to talk to each other, they hugged the sunny  side of the road... [because] warm petticoats had been pawned days ago to provide food."

The periodical Southern Daily Echo reported on March 21, 1912, that

"That distress in the industrial parts of Southampton is becoming more acutely felt is shown by the abnormal number of applicants for admission to the Workhouse, and a steady increase in the number of applicants for shelter at the vagrants’ ward. Without fuel, and almost without bread, the lot of many unskilled workers and their families is a parlous one.”

It reiterated on April 4, 1912, the following as reports of the strike’s resolution loomed. 

“There are many innocent sufferers from the present industrial upheaval, who have no direct interest in the strike, and will derive no benefit whatever happens. The casual dock labourer at the best of times lives more or less from ‘hand to mouth’... Every day that passes enlarges the zone of distress.”

And so, on the morning on April 6, 1912, the Miners Federation came together to vote on a “return to work” measure. After a reportedly spirited debate that carried on for two or three hours, they voted in favor. With that, the coal strike was at last done.

Southampton’s population was desperate to get back to work.

And thus, Recruitment Day began.

It must be emphasized that the Titanic and her peers did not come prepackaged with staff.

All manners of crew were employed on a contract-by-voyage basis, and they were recruited or otherwise picked up at various ports prior to departure--and even on the day of, according to some reports.

On the morning of April 6, 1912, Titanic had been berthed in Southampton for less than three days, having arrived on Wednesday, April 3rd, just shy of midnight. She had since been docked in Berth 44.

The coal strike had not prevented any and all persons in Southampton from obtaining work. But of those who had been restricted and without work for the duration of the strike, many were some of the poorest in the community.

Never the less, because the White Star Line had insisted on keeping its vessels on schedule regardless of the strike, some more fortunate men had been able to “sign on” to Titanic in the previous days: some, able seamen who left for Belfast back in late March, in order to board Titanic for her delivery voyage to Southampton; some, the likes of stewards and shopkeepers with prior experience.

By April 6th, cargo had begun to arrive at the White Star dock. And with the strike having ended that very morning, masses of heretofore unemployed men also gathered. 

The White Star Dock, accessible via Dock Gate 4, was reportedly mobbed.

The White Star Line’s office on Canute Road, only a brief walk away, was likewise managing an enormous crowd.

Union halls, particularly those belonging go the British Seafarers Union and the National Sailors and Firemens Union, were thronged with hundreds more workers hoping to land a gig on Titanic.

The process to sign on to a vessel was a chaotic one.

For those with prior seagoing experience, this mandated certificates of discharge and satisfactory performance on previous vessels. Regulars from similar vessels, or even a sister ship such as Olympic, of course orbited and were favored. It was a further attestation of one's competency and character to have previously served.

Violet Jessop, a stewardess on Titanic, wrote vividly of her memories of the process as she observed it years before Titanic, when she entered into seafaring life via another shipping company.

"The clerks seemed to sense my discomfiture and courteously gave me instructions where to go in order to obtain a health certificate from the company’s doctor, a necessity before I would be allowed to sign… as I came out, I found the escort thoughtfully sent by the clerk in charge of our "Articles" to conduct me back to the Board of Trade… When the shipping master appeared, there was a surge of anxious faces, each group of men clustering around the representative of the company they hoped to get taken on by. Then, employers could choose their men… Each discharge book – a seaman’s passport – was examined, and many questions asked. When the final sorting was done, and the rejected one stood aside to make room for their more fortunate, brethren, the shipping master called for silence, in order to read aloud the "Articles of Agreement."

Jessop, Violet. "Titanic Survivor: Memoirs of Violet Jessop Stewardess." The History Press, 2007.

The jobseekers signed the Articles without paying much heed to the details therein. According to Violet, it was routinely assumed that the employer would have, and dearly keep, the upper hand regardless.

Violet went on to describe the bedlam of the scene.

"The deafening babble of tongues died down and attention, not un mixed with all, was according to him… In that seething mass there was an impulse to stick together, although loyalty played no part in it. This was the herding instinct of creatures up against things; some found themselves befriending people they would not associate with on better acquaintance."

Jessop, Violet. "Titanic Survivor: Memoirs of Violet Jessop Stewardess." The History Press, 2007.

By the time Titanic departed on April 10th, she had necessitated the employ of literal hundreds in Southampton.

Per the British Board of Trade, 908 crewmembers were aboard Titanic in total.

And of that number, a staggering 724 crewmembers signed onto Titanic's maiden voyage with a Southampton address.

Open post

“Steadfast in Peril”: Titanic’s Post Office

"Steadfast in Peril": Titanic's Mail Room

Titanic’s “R.M.S.” designation meant “Royal Mail Steamer.”

The White Star Line, unremarkably, was under contract with the British government to efficiently and expediently transit mail.

And Titanic did in fact carry mail.

3,364 bags of it, to be precise. 

These thousands of sacks, containing multiple millions of pieces of mail, arrived on board at all three port destinations reached.

Most mail bags embarked at Southampton and Cherbourg, with 1,758 at the former port and 1,412 at the latter. A comparatively small amount of 194 followed at Queenstown, before Titanic turned toward the open sea.

Receiving and sorting this mail by journey’s end was the sole responsibility of only five mail clerks. 

Two of these men, James Williamson and John Richard Jago Smith, reported from the ranks of the Royal Mail.

Three American clerks—Oscar Woody, John March, and William Gwinn—joined them from their employ within the United States Postal Service.

Maritime postal clerks were esteemed, to say the least.

These men were elite, with most having been recruited from the Railway Mail Service and Foreign Mail Section after extended service. Such clerks have been noted to sort an average of 60,000 pieces of mail per day with minimal error.

And the five clerks on board Titanic were no exception to this rule of excellence.

Titanic’s postal quarters were split between two deck levels: the Post Office on G Deck, and the Sorting Mail Room on Orlop situated directly beneath it. They were located forward on the starboard side, within the fourth watertight compartment.

Titanic's mail facilities were by all accounts more polished--and far more generous--than any that the postal clerks had previously experienced. 

On most vessels, the mail sorting room was distant from the hold that stored the still-bagged mail, and it was typically constricted and dingy.

Titanic, on the other hand, provided such spacious accommodation. And it boasted an infinitely efficient design: the two rooms were “stacked” one over the other, with a wide companionway connecting them for easy access.

The expansive post office had racks and cubbies for envelopes. Additionally, there was a broad sorting table and even a latticework gate that allowed the clerks to separate registered mail from the rest.

The sleeping quarters originally assigned to Titanic's postal clerks were situated among steerage cabins.

The Postal Museum in London possesses letters from the ship’s inspection on April 9th, the day before her maiden voyage. Therein, the writer(s) take umbrage with conditions of the clerks’ accommodations among Third-Class passengers--and in derogatory terms.

"The [sleeping] Cabins are situated among a block of Third Class cabins, and it is stated the occupants of these latter, who are mostly low class Continentals, keep up noisy conversation sometimes throughout the silent hours and even indulge at times in singing and instrumental music…if their [id est, the mail clerks] work during the day is to be performed efficiently it is essential that they should enjoy a decent sleep at night."

Consequently, the mail clerks were swiftly given alternate, more peaceful accommodations.

They were also reassigned a private dining room on an upper deck--a saloon they shared with the two Marconi operators.

From the moment the Titanic set sail, the five postal clerks would have been at work sorting through the literal thousands of bags of mail in the hold: categorizing all parcels and post according to their intended destinations. 

Additionally, the First- and Second-Class Reading and Writing Rooms had postal boxes stationed outside their doors for passenger use.

The clerks, therefore, may have been alternately tasked with retrieving any such mail—and certainly worked to sort all of that, too.

The goal was to have all mail successfully dispatched at the so-called “quarantine station” in New York Bay, where all incoming ships had to tarry for health inspections.

Therefore, the mail would have disembarked even before the ship’s passengers.

At the time of the iceberg strike, the five men were in their private dining area celebrating the imminent birthday of American postal clerk Oscar Woody.

He would be turning 41 years old the next day, on April 15th.

Upon feeling the collision, the five mail clerks immediately made their way to the post office on G Deck.

Mail on board a ship was considered seriously precious cargo, and the clerks were duty- and honor-bound to safeguard it at all costs. 

And so the men set to bundling and transferring all the mail they could manage into sacks and closing them up for transport to the upper decks.

Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall was sent down to the mail room by Captain Smith.

At the American Senate Inquiry, Boxhall retold his story of meeting the postal clerks. 

Looking down into the open companion way that connected the post office where they stood to the mail hold directly below them, Boxhall stated he saw full-up mail bags floating by.

[Senator Fletcher] 3682. Did you do so?
- I was proceeding down, but I met the carpenter. 

3683. What did you say to him?
- I said, "The captain wants you to sound the ship." He said, "The ship is making water," and he went on the bridge to the captain, and I thought I would go down forward again and investigate; and then I met a mail clerk, a man named Smith, and he asked where the captain was. I said, "He is on the bridge." He said, "The mail hold is full" or "filling rapidly." I said, "Well, you go and report it to the captain and I will go down and see," and I proceeded right down into the mail room.

3684. What did you find there?
- I went down as far as the sorting room deck and found mail clerks down there working.

3685. Doing what?
- Taking letters out of the racks, they seemed to me to be doing.

3686. Taking letters out of the racks and putting them into pouches?
- I could not see what they were putting them in.

3687. You could not see what disposition they were making of them?
- I looked through an open door and saw these men working at the racks, and directly beneath me was the mail hold, and the water seemed to be then within 2 feet of the deck we were standing on.

3688. What did you do in that situation?
- (continuing): And bags of mail floating about. I went right on the bridge again and reported to the captain what I had seen.

In a contemporary report, Officer Boxhall reportedly recounted his time in the mail room with further detail.

According to Boxhall, the clerks continued their work even as the post office began to flood not five minutes later.

They began hauling the heavy sacks--at least 100 lbs each, one under each arm--moving waist-deep through the frigid seawater.

Over and over again.

"When he got down to E deck, where the mailroom was located, he says he found it awash. Gwinn was there in his nightclothes, having rushed down from his room two decks above. Three other clerks were also there and all were bundling registered mail in sacks. It is estimated that its value was $800,000.

Boxhall says that the four men loaded themselves with heavy sacks of mail and stumbled on decks. at that time the boats were being launched."

Eventually, the struggling mail clerks appealed to the stewards for aid, and bedroom steward Alfred Theissinger obliged.

Alfred later recalled the following.

"I urged them to leave their work. They shook their heads and continued at their work. It might have been an inrush of water later that cut off their escape, or it may have been the explosion. I saw them no more."

All in all, Titanic’s postal clerks salvaged approximately 200 bags of mail from the post office on G Deck—but in the end, none were saved.

Tragically, nor were they.

All five men—Woody, Smith, Williamson, March, and Gwinn—died that night.

Two of their bodies were retrieved from the sea by the MacKay-Bennett: John March, and Oscar Woody.

The United States Postmaster General stated the following in a recommendation to the Postal Committee of the House of Representatives.

"The bravery exhibited by these men," [Postmaster General] Hitchcock said, "in their efforts to safeguard under such trying conditions the valuable mail intrusted [sic] to them should be a source of pride to the entire Postal Service, and deserves some marked expression of appreciation from the Government."

In Britain, a memorial was dedicated in Southampton: it reads “Steadfast in Peril.”

In 1999, a documentary revealed that the mailroom was accessible via the front cargo hatch. 

Inside the post office on G Deck, the underwater robot--called Robin--found the mail sorting table, overturned and slowly rotting. Nearby, the latticework fence that segregated registered mail from the rest was open.

Then Robin descended further into the mail room on Orlop deck.

There, the submersible encountered canvas bags, grown over with sea life, and still full of mail.

Open post

“I Think It Is True That They Can Smell Danger”: Titanic’s Rats

"I Think It Is True That They Can Smell Danger": Titanic's Rats

When Thomas Ranger, a fireman on Titanic, arrived in Washington DC for the American Senate Inquiry, he had experienced the luxury of hotel lodgings in Washington, D.C.

When Thomas arrived back home in Britain, however, and was asked to testify before the British Board of Trade, he slept multiple nights outside on the bank of the Thames.

Another bedless man amidst “benches and tramps," Thomas Ranger stated he “prefered to walk than sleep” at the Sailors' Home.

All because of vermin.

Ranger and other surviving crew, on standby to be called before the Board, had been advised to stay at the Sailors’ Home in London, which had offered wayward seafarers interim accommodations between voyages since the 1800s. 

In May of 1912, however, the rooms in the Sailors’ Home were overly full—to the point that makeshift quarters were put out in the yard.

Meanwhile, construction to the building was ongoing, with bricklayers. The Titanic survivors were assigned to the vicinity of the remodeling efforts.

And Thomas Ranger could not bear to sleep there because the construction had disturbed and displaced an unspecified quantity of rats.

It’s no revelation that rats are—and have been—everywhere.

Even on a grand, new liner’s maiden voyage.

Yes, Titanic indeed had a rat population.

Rats have congregated on ships for so long and with such regularity that they are believed to have spread worldwide alongside human, thanks to our human Age of Conquest when ships dominated the open seas.

It’s reasonable to hypothesize that rats would have boarded the Titanic much like they have any other vessel in history: by running up unguarded mooring lines, as stowaways within waiting cargo, and even by taking up residence within the walls during construction in the shipyard.

Interestingly, around the time of the British Inquiry into the Titanic disaster, a law had recently been enacted that mandated the use of rat-guards on mooring lines, upon penalty of a five-pound fine.

But rats are cleverer than that.

Oftentimes, rats were so plentiful aboard that firemen working the boilers had a particular method of killing shipboard rats on-sight: by scooping the offending rats up with their shovels and flinging them into the fiery maw of the furnace.

For this reason, many ships had at least one cat on board.

In the case of Titanic, this rumored mouser was named Jenny: a newly adopted stray about to birth a litter.

According to Violet Jessop, Jenny the Ship's Cat was tended to primarily by a scullion named Joseph 'Big Joe' Mulholland.

The Sunday Independent reported on Joe's own account on the anniversary of the sinking, in 1962.

"There was something about that ship I did not like and I was glad to lift my old bag and bid goodbye...

Big Joe is still fond of cats and perhaps he has a reason. He recalls that on his way down to the Titanic before she set sail from Belfast with bands playing and crowds cheering, he took pity on a stray cat which was about to have kittens. He brought the cat aboard and put her in a wooden box down in the stokehold.

At Southampton, when he was ruminating whether to take on the job of store-keeper on the trip or sign off, another seaman called him over and said: 'Look Big Joe. There's your cat taking its kittens down the gang-plank.'

Joe said, 'that settled it. I went and got my bag and that's the last I saw of the Titanic.'"

Citation from "The Irish Aboard Titanic" by Senan Molony, 2000.

As the paper reported: "When his cat walked off, so did Joe."

And so Titanic's left on her maiden voyage mouser-less.

There is no official record of how many rats were on Titanic.

But eyewitness accounts attest to at least a half-dozen.

Fireman Jack Podesta gave an interview to the periodical ‘Southern Evening Echo’ in 1968, in which he reported having seen rats behaving oddly down in the boiler rooms on Saturday April 13th—the day before the iceberg strike.

"On this very morning, my chum and I had just gone across firing our boilers and we were standing against a watertight door—just talking—when all of a sudden, on looking through the forward end on [Titanic’s] starboard side, we saw about six or maybe seven rats running toward us. They passed by our feet; in fact, we both kicked out at them and they ran after somewhere. 

They must have come from the bow end, about where the crash came later. We did not take much notice at the time because we see rats on most ships, but I think it is true that they can smell danger."

But it wasn’t just crew that sighted rats on board.

There are fleeting mentions that children in third-class chased the occasional rat.

And third-class passenger Kathy Gilnagh also told Titanic historian Walter Lord that on the night of April 14th, she had seen a rat.

Shortly before collision, there was a large party in the common area of steerage.

And Kathy Gilnagh told Walter Lord that, at some point during the frivolity, a rat scurried across the room--presumably dashing across the makeshift dance floor. According to Kathy, the girls shrieked and may have even cried, but a few boys gave chase.

Kathy did not elaborate about whether those boys managed to catch that particular rat.

But the party reportedly continued on.

Even during the collision with the iceberg.

SOURCE MATERIAL

Molony, Senan. "The Irish Aboard Titanic." Wolfhound Press, 2000.

Lord, Walter. "A Night to Remember."

http://www.paullee.com/titanic/Podesta.php

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-survivor-sleeping-rough.html

Open post

“The Captain’s Tiger”: James Arthur Paintin

"The Captain's Tiger": James Arthur Paintin

James Arthur Paintin was a tiger.

That is, he was the sole steward to attend to no lesser man than Titanic's captain, E.J. Smith.

James went by his middle name of Arthur, and he was 29 years old in April of 1912.

He was also a newlywed, having married Alice Bunce only five months prior, in November of 1911. They had courted for approximately four years prior to their marriage.

According to the account of a family member, Arthur Paintin intended for the Titanic to be his final stint at sea, because Alice had become pregnant. The couple reportedly hoped to purchase a hotel.

Arthur boarded the RMS Titanic as a personal steward to the captain, and was therefore a member of the Victualing Crew. Old nautical terminology refers to Arthur’s particular role as “the Captain’s Tiger.”

The origin of this unofficial but quite compelling title seems to be something of a mystery.

Arthur had entered into employment with the White Star Line in 1907, and by 1912, he had already served as Captain Smith’s Tiger on both the Adriatic and Titanic’s elder sister Olympic.

It is unclear if Arthur had acted in the capacity of a steward for a significant amount of time prior to his time with Captain Smith, because while on board Titanic, he wrote that he had joined a “stewards club” the previous August. He did note that benefits did not begin in that club until the first anniversary of his membership.

So Arthur was thusly intrigued by the opportunity to join what was essentially a rotary club called the "Hearts of Oak". He expressed this interest to his father.

When Arthur signed onto Titanic in Southampton on April 4th, he had a cold, although it was just beginning to improve.

“My cold is still pretty bad,” he wrote in a letter to his parents while on board, “but nothing like it was last week.” 

And he wasn’t exactly inspired by his accommodations, but he endeavored to be positive in spite of it.

"Bai jove [sic] what a fine ship this is, much better than the Olympic as far as passengers are concerned, but my room is nothing near so nice, no daylight, electric light on all day, but I suppose it's no use grumbling."

Citation courtesy of "Titanic Voices: Memories from the Fateful Voyage," by Donald Hyslop, Alastair Forsyth, and Sheila Jemima. 1994.

As the Captain’s Tiger, Arthur was in essence a personal valet. And it would certainly seem that Captain Smith had a distinct appreciation for Arthur's excellent services, as Titanic's maiden voyage was at least their third voyage together.

Arthur would have been responsible for Captain Smith’s functional needs within his quarters, like his laundering and boots, and with bringing him necessities like messages and meals as needed.

It is possible that Arthur accompanied Captain Smith to public meals, in order to attend to his needs. But where and when the Tiger himself ate, is not known.

Stewardess Violet Jessop observed that, at least on Olympic, all manners of stewards ate hurriedly and without much respite, whenever their schedules would allow it.

 "[Stewards ate] standing in any available corner of a greasy pantry, amid steamy smells and nauseating, grease-strewn decks, eaten in the quickest possible time in order to get away."

Citation courtesy of "Titanic Survivor: The Newly Discovered Memoirs of Violet Jessop," edited by John Maxtone-Graham. 1997.

There was a lounge on board Titanic assigned exclusively for the use of personal maids and valets of passengers. But it it is unknown if this lounge likewise would have been available and appropriate for the Captain's Tiger.

To date, Arthur Paintin’s movements throughout Titanic's voyage are entirely unconfirmed. There appears to be no record.

Acting as the Captain’s Tiger was a role of some significance—which is why Arthur’s absence from eyewitness accounts is sometimes noted by Titanic enthusiasts as peculiar. But then again, it is not in the general purview of a personal steward to be noticeable.

Only Frederick Dent Ray, a surviving Saloon Steward, has thus far been noted as having witnessed James Arthur Paintin on board--specifically, in the final moments of the sinking.

Frederick testified as follows on the ninth day of the American Inquiry, stating that Arthur had last been seen alongside Captain Smith on Titanic's bridge.

Senator SMITH.
Did he [Captain E.J. Smith] have a personal waiter or steward of his own?

Mr. RAY.
Yes, sir.

Senator SMITH.
Who was he?

Mr. RAY.
A man named Phainten [James Arthur Paintin], I think it was; I am almost sure.

Senator SMITH.
Did he survive?

Mr. RAY.
No, sir. He was last seen on the bridge, standing by the captain.

Just like E.J. Smith, the Captain's Tiger did not survive the sinking of the Titanic.

The body of James Arthur Paintin, if recovered, was never identified.

Back home, Alice Paintin was widowed after less than six months of marriage. And three months after Titanic foundered, she gave birth to her lost husband's son.

She named the baby James Arthur Paintin.

SOURCE MATERIAL

Hyslop, Donald, Alastair Forsyth, and Sheila Jemima. "Titanic Voices: Memories from the Fateful Voyage." Sutton Publishing Limited, 1997.

Jessop, Violet. "Titanic Survivor: The Newly Discovered Memoirs of Violet Jessop Who Survived Both the Titanic and Britannic Disasters." Annotated by John Maxtone-Graham. Sheridan House, Inc., 1997.

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-victim/james-arthur-paintin.html

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/family-information-about-arthur-paintin-his-wife-and-child.html

https://www.titanicinquiry.org/USInq/AmInq09Ray01.php

Open post

“A Ship Full of Flowers”: Sensory Titanic

"A Ship Full of Flowers": Sensory Titanic

When passengers embarked on the RMS Titanic on April 10, 1912, in Southampton, they legitimately could smell the fresh paint.

And by many accounts, it was pretty awful.

Much like anywhere else—and despite the impressions of austerity invariably imparted by black-and-white photographs—Titanic was a world of scents. Some were pleasant, most were reportedly overpowering.

And all collaborated in a perfume at once chemical, decadent, and grim.

According to multiple firsthand accounts, Titanic reeked of fresh paint and varnish. 

The exterior was painted, of course, with the iconic red portion of the hull protected with a so-called anti-fouling medium made by Suter, Hartman & Rahtjens.

But the rooms and corridors, newly painted a pristine and untouched swan feather white, are what inspired passenger complaints.

Lillian Asplund, a steerage passenger who was six years old when she boarded Titanic, later recalled, "I remember not liking the smell of fresh paint."

Meanwhile, Second-class passenger Kate Buss wrote in a letter home, "The only thing I object to is new paint so far."

Third-class passenger Jane von Tongerloo was so displeased with the smell, recalled her daughter, that she left the cabin door ajar just to get a modicum of fresh air.

The combination of oil-based paint and linseed oil was a heady aroma under the best of circumstances, but could prove particularly difficult to overcome, when ventilation was primarily achieved via portholes. Opening these, of course, subjected the room to the fickle April chill.

The smell of paint even sickened some passengers, causing symptoms such as head pain.

The White Star Line reportedly made attempts to mask the chemical odors with an absolute excess of floral arrangements.

White Star flooded both suites and various public spaces with bouquets--to such a degree that one passenger later described Titanic as "a ship full of flowers."

The plentitude of flowers on board Titanic were all provided by a single nursery: F.G. Bealing & Son of Southampton.

The horticultural florist firm had begun supplying the White Star Line when the company arrived on the scene in Southampton in 1907. It was a connection achieved via Bealings's existing relationship with Oakley & Watling, one of the White Star Line's regular fruit suppliers.

In the evening hours of April 9th, Mr. Frank Bealing, his son, and his foreman Bill Geapin loaded all the flowers, palms, and potted plants into mule-drawn carts, and pulled up alongside the mammoth liner in its quay.

The men set down all the flowers on a tarp in one of Titanic's main foyers, and set to work distributing them about the ship.

Decorative plants were staged partly at the direction of White Star staff and partly per the Bealings's tastes, although they likely would have attempted to mimic the placements they'd done on Titanic's elder sister Olympic.

Fresh-cut flowers, meanehile, were stored in the Titanic's G-Deck storage room labeled "Passenger Fruits & Flowers."

It is also rumored that Bealing buttonhole carnations were handed out to the First-Class passengers on sailing day, and many likely found their ways down into the water below. A local boy who went to see Titanic off recalled that "all the people on deck were waving and throwing flowers down, and they were all going into the sea."

There are varying reports of the substance of floral bouquets upon First-Class dining tables for each meal.

Perhaps each table was alternately arranged with a unique bouquet, suggesting a theme; perhaps the variations in their retellings are simply mistakes of memory.

Lady Duff-Gordon wrote of her dinner table in the A La Carte restaurant on April 14th, "We had a big vase of beautiful daffodils on the table, which were fresh as though they had just been picked."

Meanwhile, Mahala Douglas recalled that while attending the dinner party for Captain Smith on the at very same evening that those tables were adorned with bouquets of pink roses and white daisies.

And Lily May Futrelle recalled with a flourish that her dinner table boasted a "great bunch" of American Beauty roses.

In addition to all the flowers already on board, a number of passengers received “Bon Voyage” flower baskets from acquaintances—among them, First-Class passenger Ida Straus.

"You cannot imagine how pleased I was to find your exquisite basket of flowers in our sitting room on the steamer. The roses and carnations are all so beautiful in color and so fresh as though they had just been cut."

Citation courtesy of "On Board RMS Titanic," by George Behe. 2012.

Lady Duff-Gordon also boarded with a basketful of flowers: lilies of the valley--her signature bloom--gifted to her on the train platform in Paris as she departed for the port of Cherbourg, by the salon girls in her employ.

Floral arrangements within First-Class suites and cabins reportedly consisted of carnations, and were changed daily.

This routine apparently included a rotation of flower vases in the bathrooms, as Lady Duff-Gordon recounted in her survivor account.

"Just then, a steward knocked. 'Sorry to alarm you, madame, but Captain's orders are that all passengers must put on lifebelts.'

Before we followed him out of the cabin, as I looked round it for the last time, a vase of flowers on the washstand slid off and fell with a crash to the floor."

It should be noted, however, that botanical fumes in First-Class cabins were not exclusively due to zealous floral placement.

They also emanated from bath products supplied by the White Star Line.

Titanic, much like any hotel, also provided complimentary toiletries to its guests.

In particular, White Star provided “Vinolia Otto Toilet Soap” exclusively to its esteemed First-Class clientele on all of its vessels.

The soap was produced by the Vinolia Company Limited, an English company that existed as early as 1894.

Vinolia Otto was advertised as the “standard of Toilet Luxury and comfort at sea… perfect for sensitive skins and delicate complexions… and for regular Toilet use there is no soap more delightful.”

Vinolia likewise claimed its product was “just the soap to counteract the effect of the salt sea upon the skin.”

It reportedly had strong scents of roses and lemon, leading to reasonable assumption that the soap was named after its source botanical component: rose oil, which is more elegantly referred to as “an attar of roses” or “Rose Otto”.

Speaking of roses: perfumes were of course in use in 1912, and likely would have also contributed to Titanic's olfactory atmosphere.

And although determining which branded perfumes may have been on board Titanic is speculative at best, enthusiasts have made some informed guesswork based upon the popularity of various perfumes in the spring of 1912.

Two such perfumes were by Jacques Guerlain: called Jicky, and L’Heure Bleu.

The former was made up of vanilla and lavender with a secondary citrus essence, while the latter left a powdery, dusky impression due to spicy aniseed and violet notes. A stroll across Titanic's decks may very well have been visited by one of these scents woven into the cool salt air.

It is likely that same walk down the promenade would also have been accompanied by the rich aroma of tobacco.

Cigarettes, cigars, and pipes were welcomed throughout the vessel, save for a few areas, such as the First-Class Dining Saloon during mealtimes and the corridors.

Smoking was likewise forbidden in the Palm Court on A Deck, a  point of contention that turned the room into a de facto playground on Titanic’s sister Olympic.

But smoking was otherwise permissible in most locations. It was so ubiquitous, in fact, that during a review of the Olympic, White Star chairman J. Bruce Ismay advocated for additional cigar-holders to be installed above the urinals in the men's lavatories.

Additionally, the Cafe Parisien on B Deck seemed particularly popular for fashionable young cigarette smokers on board the Titanic.

Crew members were only permitted to smoke while off-duty, although surely this rule was bent to breaking.

Stewardess Violet Jessop wrote in her memoir that she caught at least one steward defying the rule on the boat deck, in the middle of evacuations.

"A steward stood waiting with his back to the bulkhead, cigarette in mouth and hands in his pockets. It struck me forcibly as the first time I had ever seen a steward stand thus amid a group of distinguished guests."

Excerpt from "Titanic Survivor: The New Discovered Memoirs of Violet Jessop," written by Violet Jessop and edited by John Maxtone-Graham. 1997.

Officers were assigned their own Smoking Room, and it is reasonable to assume it was frequented.

Fifth Officer Harold Lowe was photographed with a pipe on multiple occasions throughout his career, as was Second Officer Charles Lightoller. First Officer William Murdoch was reportedly a smoker as well.

Cigars, meanwhile, were the proud enjoyment of many an elite gentleman on board, including Captain E.J. Smith. Smith's daughter once recounted that her father was so precious with his cigars that he would insist that other people in the room stay utterly still, so as not to disturb the blue-smoke haze.

On to a less pleasant smell than all the others: the iceberg that sank Titanic. Multiple survivors attested to the rank odor of nearby icebergs on the night of April 14th.

Crewmember Frank Winnold Prentice stated, "You could smell ice; I knew it, because you can smell it… keenness, a keenness in the air. There’s something about ice you can smell," in a filmed interview in 1983.

In his testimony before the British Wreck Commissioner's Inquiry, lookout George Symons also recalled that he could smell ice in the vicinity.

Had you noticed anything to lead you to think you might meet icebergs before you got that message?
- Yes; just a small conversation, I think, about 9 o'clock. My mate turned round from time to time and said, "It is very cold here." I said, "Yes; by the smell of it there is ice about." He asked me why, and I said, "As a Rule you can smell the ice before you get to it."

Perhaps the recollection of Elizabeth Weed Shutes, however, is the most evocative of all.

Elizabeth was restless on the night of April 14th, irked and unnerved by the foul scent pervading her cabin.

"Such a biting cold air poured into my stateroom that I could not sleep, and the air had so strange an odor, as if it came from a clammy cave. I had noticed that same odor in the ice cave on the Eiger glacier."

Citation Courtesy of "On Board RMS Titanic," by George Behe. 2012.

The crash came moments thereafter.

SOURCE MATERIAL

Hyslop, Donald, Alastair Forsyth, and Sheila Jemima. "Titanic Voices: Memories from the Fateful Voyage." Sutton Publishing Limited, 1997.

Behe, George. "On Board RMS Titanic: Memories of the Maiden Voyage." The History Press, 2012.

Jessop, Violet. "Titanic Survivor: The Newly Discovered Memoirs of Violet Jessop Who Survived Both the Titanic and Britannic Disasters." Annotated by John Maxtone-Graham. Sheridan House, Inc., 1997.

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/community/threads/flowers.4988/

https://www.titanicinquiry.org/BOTInq/BOTInq10Symons01.php

http://www.oldmagazinearticles.com/Lady-Duff-Gordon-Survives_TITANIC-pdf

"Titanic: A Question of Murder," 1983. Youtube URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYWz4SAwZp0

Open post

“The Click of the Familiar Machinery Comes As a Welcome Interruption”: The Print Shop

"The Click of the Familiar Machinery Comes As a Welcome Interruption": Titanic's Print Shop

The RMS Titanic, much like many other ocean liners, had a print shop.

No photos of it are known to exist.

But it was surely a small space packed with machinery and typeface. An article published in the "Printers' Register" in 1905 describes the typical liner's print shop in delightful detail.

How many of all the thousands who have crossed on the great liners have ever been inside the ship's printing-office? It is a picturesque little shop, fitted up much the same as any printing-office on land, with type-cases and printing-press, where the click of the familiar machinery comes as a welcome interruption to the incessant throbbing of the ship's engines... 

The ships' printing-office is usually an inside room and of the size of an ordinary stateroom, with the berths removed. The cases and frames of type in these days of oceans newspapers pretty well fill the little office.

When considering the substantial variety of ephemera that a ship would use, the presence of a printing office was certainly a necessity.

Among the paper goods printed on board an ocean liner were a variety of menus every day, multiple times per day, for hundreds of travelers in each of the passenger classes.

Additionally, the printing office producsd pamphlets on-board programs and special events, stationary, and even waiters' notepads. On Titanic and her older sister Olympic, there would have also been a need for printed tickets to exclusive, paid-access areas such as the Turkish baths.

A contemporary illustration of the "Cool Room" of the Turkish Baths on RMS Olympic, which would have been identical to that on Titanic.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

While it might be assumed that all of these materials could have been entirely prepared in advance of a voyage, it would have been detrimental to do so because they were so often subject to change, particularly at sea.

For instance, a course boasted on a pre-printed menu could be ruined when ingredients were unavailable because of anything from spoilage to a delayed supply train and poor weather. This was all the more true for a vessel that had never sailed before; bills of fare may very well have been extemporaneous, or otherwise edited last-minute at a whim.

According to Bob Richardson of the British Printing Society, any color printing would have been completed on shore and otherwise left blank for the printing office on board, who would fill in the text of the item in black ink. The typefaces selected by White Star were commonly used in 1912 and limited in ornament, such as the British "Westminster" typeface by Stephenson Blake, as well as "Grot," more commonly known as "Gothic." The fanciest typeface was arguably Theodore De Vinne's design for passenger stationary, which read "On board R.M.S. Titanic."

Thus, there was plenty to keep a liner's printing office in constant operation. And then, with the advent of the wireless telegraph, passengers vessels would adopt yet another paper item: the newspaper.

In the past year [of 1905] the ship's printing-office has gained a new interest. It has become a newspaper office as well... The installation of the wireless system has given a new occupation to the printer. On many of the great ocean liners, for instance, a newspaper is published every day... It is common for a steamer to be in communication with some other boat each day, and so the possibilities of picking up news from one side of the Atlantic or the other are many. The steward editor is seldom at a loss for some news items from the outside world, at worst not more than three days old...

The newspaper is... about 8 by 4 inches [in size].

Titanic likewise produced its own so-called newspaper, called the "Atlantic Daily Bulletin."

Interestingly, though, it would seem that Titanic did not handle the Bulletin in the usual way as described above. Veteran deep-ocean explorer and Titanic enthusiast Parks Stephenson has indicated that the Atlantic Daily Bulletin would not have fallen under the purview of the printing office, unlike documented procedure on some of Titanic's peer vessels.

According to Stephenson,  Senior Marconi Operator Jack Phillips was responsible for writing down the day's news broadcast during his First Watch. He thereafter transmitted the daily update to the Purser's Office, where it was copied with a typewriter and pinned up in the First-Class Smoking Lounge, a facility exclusively available to men.

The First-Class Smoking Room on Titanic's elder sister, Olympic. Taken by William Rau for Harland & Wolff, 1911. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

The exact model of Titanic's printing machinery has not been discovered to date.

Additionally, the location of Titanic's printing office is still debated. There are alternating reports that it existed on either D Deck or E Deck dependent upon the iteration of the ship's deck plans. It is most commonly argued that Titanic's printshop would likely have been located on D Deck, because it was adjacent to the First-Class pantry and in the immediate vicinity of the First-Class restaurants; this arrangement would have benefitted the manufacture of menus.

Along with the ongoing bills of fare that the printshop would be tasked with every day, this location would have been ideal because it placed the printers in the proximity of wealthy customers who could commission them for custom work, such as private dining menus, luggage tags, and personalized calling cards.

In fact, a business card that was acquired on Titanic still exists. It belonged Father Frank Browne during his brief time on board, and it had been given to him by the First-Class Gymnasium's athletic instructor Thomas W. McCawley. Given its minimalist appearance, it is likely to have been printed on board. At the top edge of the plain white card, Frank noted, "Card given me by".

Mr. T. W. McCawley

Physical Educator.

 

THE GYMNASIUM,

        R.M.S TITANIC,

              WHITE STAR LINE.

© "Father Browne's Titanic Album: A Passenger's Photographs and Personal Memoir," by E.E. O'Donnell SJ, 2011.

Titanic's printing office was tended by 53-year-old Print Steward Abraham Mishellany, a refugee from the modern country of Lebanon. After his family fled the Ottoman regime, he had then emigrated to Egypt before resettling in England, where he married a women named Grace Sarah Holland.

Mishellany was in turn assisted by Ernest Corben of London, who was 27 years old.

Abraham appears to have been a veteran employee who had also worked on the RMS Olympic. He, like many a Print Steward, was considered a special breed of worker.

 The press is worked by hand. The ship's printer is a regular steward and, like them, wears the ship's uniform. He must, besides, have some qualifications which a landsman may never learn. He must be a good sailor. It is not enough that he should never be sick when a menu or a Marconi newspaper edition is to be run off; he must be able to work quickly with his office at an angle of perhaps 45 degrees.

The two men were likely occupied with their duties throughout the voyage.

It is presumed that on the night of April 14, 1912, that the two printer stewards were probably working late. Orders for the next day's breakfast menus were most likely given to Mishellany and Corben in the afternoon or early evening.

There is no eyewitness record that accounts for Abraham or Ernest during the sinking.

Neither of the men survived.

A government printing office circa 1905, from the Harris & Ewing Photography Collection. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

Because so many items were printed exclusively on board, there are very few paper artifacts that survived the sinking of the Titanic, most of which are menus.

A First-Class luncheon menu saved by passenger Abraham Lincoln Solomon sold at auction for $88,000 in 2015.

Open post

“Sunlit Hours of Those Spring Days”: Marie Grice Young

"Sunlit Hours of Those Spring Days": Marie Grice Young

Marie Grice Young was born well-connected.

A native of Washington, D.C., both of Marie's parents were so-called "Old Washingtonians" and thus boasted a number of political friendships resulting from their residence in the national capital. They eventually separated.

Marie's father Samuel, once a civil-servant-turned-affluent-mining magnate, was also profoundly gifted in the musical arts.

He was a noted vocalist and celebrated songwriter; he often performed in D.C. social circles, both as a solo act and in an esteemed choral society. Unfortunately, after suffering a fall from a carriage in 1891, Samuel Young's health and character was mortally compromised.

Within a ten-year span, Marie bore witness to her father's deterioration, including alcoholism, a suicide attempt and subsequent commitment to an asylum after he was "declared to be insane by a jury sitting at the city hall" in Washington D.C. In 1901, Samuel succeeded in taking his own life by ingesting laudanum.

Marie was 25 years old at the time.

The National Mall in Washington, D.C., circa 1901. Courtesy of the National Parks Service and the United States Commission of Fine Arts.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

Marie appears to have taken after her late father and by 1910, she had become an accomplished musician in her own right.

In her early twenties, she had studied with John Porter Lawrence, an acclaimed pianist who himself has studied at the Leipsig Conservatory. In 1904, she played piano on tour for a musical reading called "Enoch Arden," and she sometimes performed as a soprano vocalist.

Marie's talent brought her to the attention of the most prominent family in Washington, D.C., when she was solicited by the First Lady to act as the piano teacher to three of President Theodore Roosevelt's children.

One day, I received a call from Mrs. Roosevelt asking if I would give daily lessons on the piano to her sons, Archie, then 7, and Quentin, 10. I agreed and they came to my home for their lessons for more than two years. Their sister, Ethel, was also one of my pupils.

As reported in The Evening Recorder, February 12, 1955. Citation courtesy of Encyclopedia Titanica.

By 1907, Marie was cited as the go-to "for information regarding the present observances and management of the [Presidential] household."

Archie & Quentin Roosevelt circa 1902, taken by Frances Benjamin Johnston. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

In 1910, Marie Grice Young was noted in census records as an unmarried piano teacher.

By 1911, the now-36-year-old Marie was found in the constant company of an older widow named Ella Holmes White. They had been introduced in the summer of 1910.

The Washington Herald reported that the two had elected to live together. In October of 1911, the women set off for a European holiday. As evidenced by contemporary reports, the two wintered in Paris and Rome, and spent their time collecting antiques, artwork, and shopping for clothes. They were also spotted touring the French countryside by automobile.

Marie and Ella boarded the Titanic as First-Class passengers on the evening of April 10, 1912, in Cherbourg, France. In their company were Ella's maid Amelia Bessette, as well as her manservant Sante Righini.

While boarding Titanic from the tender ship SS Nomadic, Ella White is reported to have sprained her ankle. She was consequently confined to her C-Deck cabin by one of the ship's physicians.

While Ella was stationary in bed, Marie spent her hours enjoying a good people-watch on Titanic's decks.

In my thoughts I often lie again in my steamer chair, and watch the passing throng on the Titanic's promenade deck. After the usual excitement… the routine of life on deck was established. Two famous men passed many times every day in a vigorous constitutional, one talking always - as rapidly as he walked - the other a good and smiling listener.

Babies and nurses, dear old couples, solitary men, passed sunlit hours of those spring days on deck, while the Titanic swept on to the scene of the disaster; approaching what might not have been so much a sinister fate awaiting her...

Alongside their many trunks--packed as they were with the sartorial rewards of shopping trips in Paris--Ella and Marie had also brought aboard some noisier and infinitely more curious cargo: fancy French poultry.

In recent years, Marie's extended family has speculated that a shared interest in raising chickens was the element that brought their "Auntie Mary" and Ella together in the first place.

As it turns out, upon their meeting in 1910, Marie Grice Young had offered Ella White some advice when the latter spoke of French-bred chickens as a smart investment.

Ella eventually hired the younger woman as a consultant at her summer home, called Briarcliff Lodge, in Westchester County, New York. They became "fast friends," and soon thereafter fell in love.

And so, during their 1911 holiday, the couple purchased a collection of French roosters and hens of elite breeding. They intended to bring the birds home to Briarcliff Lodge.

On board Titanic, these newly adopted fowl were kept on F-Deck, in proximity to the kennels in which the passengers' dogs were also kept. The animals were looked after by Titanic's carpenters, one of whom was a 26-year-old named John Hall Hutchinson.

Throughout the voyage, Marie performed regular check-ins on their exotic pets on F-Deck.

Every day, she visited them in the hold and counted up their eggs to report back to Ella. In doing so, she quickly befriended Hutchinson.

It so happened that I took an unusual interest in some of the men below decks, for I had talked often with the carpenter and the printer, in having extra crates and labels made for the fancy French poultry we were bringing home, and I saw a little of the ship's life, in my daily visits to the gaily crowing roosters, and to the hens, who laid eggs busily, undismayed by the novelty and commotion of their surroundings.

I had seen the cooks before their great cauldrons of porcelain, and the bakers turning out the huge loaves of bread, a hamper of which was later brought on deck, to supply the life boats.

In accepting some gold coins, the ship's carpenter said, "It is such a good luck to receive gold on a first voyage!" Yet he was the first of the Titanic's martyrs, who, in sounding the ship just after the iceberg was struck, sank and was lost in the inward rushing sea that engulfed him.

According to Ella's testimony on the twelfth day of the American Senate Inquiry, she had remarked to Marie on the morning of April 14th that the chill in the weather was peculiar.

Ella stated, "Everybody knew we were in the vicinity of icebergs. Even in our staterooms it was so cold that we could not leave the port hole open. It was terribly cold. I made the remark to Miss Young, on Sunday morning: 'We must be very near icebergs to have such cold weather as this.' It was unusually cold."

Ella went on to describe the iceberg strike.

Senator SMITH.
Were you aroused especially by the impact?

Mrs. WHITE.
No; not at all. I was just sitting on the bed, just ready to turn the lights out. It did not seem to me that there was any very great impact at all. It was just as though we went over about a thousand marbles. There was nothing terrifying about it at all.

Despite the underwhelming description, Ella did not consider the sensation a matter of fleeting curiosity. In fact, she was gravely concerned, and insisted that the entire group leave the cabin to investigate.

Marie, Ella, and Ella's maid Amelia dressed and went up on A Deck. Ella stated that she dressed warmly and had demanded that Marie do the same.

Marie's resulting wardrobe choice was perplexing to say the least: a fur coat over her negligee, after which she took the time to put on a hat and gloves and grab her handbag.

With the assistance of Ella's manservant Sante, the group ushered Ella to the elevator up to A Deck. They then encountered Captain Smith. He warned them about lifebelts, and so they heeded him.

The party made their way to the boat deck, with Sante aiding Ella up the Grand Staircase due to her bound-up foot.

The view of the Grand Staircase from the boat deck on R.M.S. Olympic, Titanic's elder sister, circa 1911. Photo taken by William H. Rau for Harland & Wolff.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

Once on the boat deck, the four watched the preparation of the portside lifeboats under the supervision of Second Officer Charles Lightoller.

Ella was at this time in possession of a walking stick with a Bakelite end, which boasted the novelty feature of being electrically lit. And she was quite insistent on utilizing it.

Lightoller found it horribly annoying.

[The] deck lights on, which, though dim, helped considerably with the work; more than could be said of one very good lady who achieved fame by waving an electric light and successfully blinding us as we worked on the boats. It puzzled me until I found she had it installed in the head of her walking stick! I am afraid she was rather disappointed on finding out that her precious light was not a bit appreciated. Arriving in safety on board the Carpathia, she tried to make out that someone had stolen her wretched stick, whereas it had been merely taken from her, in response to my request that someone would throw the damn thing overboard.

Ella, Marie, and Amelia eventually boarded Lifeboat 8, presumably with the ongoing help of Sante.

The ladies would never see him again.

Even as Ella acknowledged the separation of loved ones from each other, she insisted that there absolutely no panic amongst the passengers that she saw.

There was no excitement whatever. Nobody seemed frightened. Nobody was panic-stricken. There was a lot of pathos when husbands and wives kissed each other goodbye, of course.

Watching the sinking of Titanic from Lifeboat 8, the women on board took charge of the tiller when they learned the ineptitude of a number of crewmen on board.

Marie took to rowing an oar alongside the Countess of Rothes.

Intermittently, Marie found herself seasick, which she stated was worsened by the smoking of the stewards. "The men took out cigarettes and lighted them as we were being lowered into the sea," she said. "The man in front of me lighted a pipe and it was so foul-smelling that it actually made me sick."

Marie vomited about a half-dozen times, and that she had to rest at the bottom of the boat for a while to assuage her nausea. That, however, did not stop her from rowing.

Ella, on the other hand, could not row due to her condition--but that same condition did not dissuade her from waving her cane back and forth through the night air because, as she claimed, the lamp in the boat did not work.

Ella lodged further complaints regarding the seamen on board Lifeboat 8, which she expounded upon in her characteristically brusque tone during the American Senate Inquiry.

The American Senate Inquiry in the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. New York City, 1912.

PUBLIC DOMAIN

This so-named "pathos" may have been a reference to the parting of young newlyweds Victor and Maria Peñasco, or the famed refusal of Isidor and Ida Straus to separate, both of which occurred at the launch of Lifeboat 8.

The Senate Inquiry was just one of many obligations with which Marie and Ella had to contend in the aftermath of the sinking.

Marie Grice Young had somehow found herself the subject of a falsified account regarding the last sighting of one of Titanic's most mourned passengers: Major Archibald Butt, who was a dear friend of President William H. Taft.

Marie is reported to have regaled the media with a dramatic scene in which Archibald Butt approached her to communicate his farewells back in Washington, D.C.

According to the reports in syndicated newspapers, Major Butt spoke kind words to Marie and even wrapped her in a blanket, calmly inquiring if she might share his final farewells to all of his friends back home.

Marie was also reported to have been the very last woman to leave Titanic, despite the fact that Lifeboat 8 left Titanic at approximately 1:00 a.m., over an hour before the ship submerged and before other lifeboats were launched.

President William Howard Taft (left) with Major Archibald butt (center).

PUBLIC DOMAIN

The multiple newspaper accounts that promulgated this fabrication eventually were addressed by Marie Grice Young herself in a letter to President Taft.

In said letter, she insisted that a whimsical journalist had concocted the entire account.

Dear Mr President:

I have read an account of the Memorial Service held in Washington recently in honor of Major Archibald Butt, at which service the Secretary of War alluded to a farewell conversation supposed to have taken place between Major Butt and myself. Had such a conversation taken place I should not have delayed one hour in giving you every detail of the last hours of your special Aide & friend.

Although a Washingtonian I did not know Major Butt, having been in deep mourning for several years. The alleged "interview" is entirely an invention, by some officious reporter; who thereby brought much distress to many of Major Butt's near relatives and friends... for when they wrote me of what a comfort the story was to them, I had to tell them it was untrue, as no such deception could be carried through...

With deep regret that I could not be his messenger to you,
Believe me,
Very sincerely yours
(Miss) Marie G. Young

In spite of the trauma they endured, Ella White and Marie Grice Young moved forward together.

Marie was determined to replace the French roosters and hens that she and Ella had lost in the sinking, so she returned to France to hand-select them once again.

This time, however, Marie traveled alone. And at the start of this voyage, she visited with her Grice cousins in Nottingham, England, who set aside a permanent room for her.

According to her living family, it was during this trip that Marie decided to abandon some artifacts of particularly painful memories.

Before departing Nottingham for France, Marie discarded the fur coat, hat, gloves, and purse that had accompanied her on the night of Titanic's sinking.

Her cousins hung the coat in a closet and boxed up the rest, where they remain untouched and unnoticed for decades thereafter.

Granting that the Titanic was a triumph of construction and appointments, even she could not trespass upon a law of nature, and survive.

Helplessly that beautiful and gallant ship struggled to escape from the hand of God, but was only an atom in the Hold of inexorable justice.

Majestically she sailed; but bowed, broken and crouching, she sank slowly beneath the conquering ocean; a hidden memorial shaft to the unburied dead she carried with her, and to the incredible wickedness of man, until the coming of the day when "there shall be no more sea."

The forgotten box of Marie Grice Young's Titanic effects was accidentally thrown away when the Grice family home was sold.

In 2019, Ella White's infamous cane sold at auction for over $60,000.

Posts navigation

1 2 3
Scroll to top